The Taciturn Tale
by Chubs34
Summary: This is the story of a man who had spread Hate and Death at his blades. He saw the demon he was, and unmade that man. Now, with the weight of humanity on his shoulders, he must fight with all his soul and strength, not only for mankind, but to redeem himself from his black past. He will ensure his path into Sovngarde...or fall back into the pits of Oblivion.
1. The Pages Unfurl

Hello, heroes of Skyrim. This is the story of not only my Dragonborn, but of his friends and foes. I've never been good at talking directly to my audience, so I'll simply begin our tale.

O

As Ifgar enters his home, he squeezes his parcel once more, feeling the hard corners of the book he purchased only hours before. It's said to reveal how the Dragonborn truly was, not what the rumors and songs made him to be. It cost him nearly fifty Septims, a whole month's pay, but he wanted to learn more of the legendary man, with the soul of a Dragon, the body of a man, and a heart stronger than an ox's.

His wife turns to him, standing by the hearth, smiling at his return. As her eyes lay upon his treausure, she asks: "What have you got there?" Ifgar answers the question. His spouse's features twist into one of scorn at your large purchase. "We needed those Septims to buy food! Now what will we do?"

"I'll put in extra time at the mine." He replies. He did feel a bit foolish for spending such a pretty penny, but he's sure some good will come of it.

"You had better! Just because the War's over doesn't mean you can slack off!" Freda shouts at him, with the wrath of a dragon, and storms into another room. Ifgar sits on his favorite chair, and sighs his remorse. He hated it when she brought that up. He fought in the Civil war, and since it had ended, there was a diminished need for soldiers. With his bad shield arm, he just didn't make the cut.

It wasn't his fault. Enemy had him four to one. If he hadn't have been rescued by-

"Father?" A small voice questions hesitantly. "Why is mum so angry?" He walks over, hands wringing. He blamed himself, the poor child.

"Aye, child, 'tis not your fault." He motioned his son over, picked him up, and sat him on his knee. "'Tis mine, and mine alone. I bought a book today. A story book. The ones you like. Want to see it, Lanjar?"

His darling son, Lanjar, perked up at this. He beamed at his father, and begged to see the new book. "Please, da! What is it?"

Ifgar chuckled warmly. At least _someone_ appreciated his kind thought. "The title is "The Taciturn Tale". Written by...Arch-Mage Kenna Hailstorm." Ifgar had heard of her before. She was a smart and powerful wizard.

"Open it, open it!" Lanjar pleaded, bouncing on his knee. Ifgar laughed and conceited, opening and reading aloud the words.

"I have heard every song and tale regarding Lanjar the Taciturn. While it is true, that in each there is a grain of truth, most are comprised of bravado, making the Dragonborn seem like a Paragon his whole life. He has confessed to me very horrible things he had done. However, this is not to make him seem like a villain, either. What he is, is a hero. He rose above his past, above adversity the likes of which are unimaginable, even above his own flaws, to save the world at least thrice.

"If you ever questioned Lanjar about his deeds, he would deny his importance. Say that he merely stood in the background while we, his shield-siblings, fought the battles. That is humility in it's truest body. He fought with all his might, mind, and spirit, not only on the battlefield, but where bargains must have been made. Deals with Daedra to achieve victory. He would've sacrificed everything for his cause. Freedom, sanity, even his own life.

"I write this on my own will. To the Dragonborn, to have his past told is irrelevant. So long as no one must bear the burden he had, his name could fade from memory, and he would care nothing of it. I do this to ensure that this man, my friend, my shield-brother, my mentor, and his story do not fade to time.

"This is the story of the _Dovahkiin_. Of the Harbinger of the Companions. Of the _Qahnaarin_. Of a villain told of only in nightmares. Of the Hero of Skyrim. Of the Guardian.

"This is the tale of Lanjar the Taciturn."

A/N (Author's Notes)

Most of the titles shown you'll recognize. The only one that may be confusing is "The Gaurdian." In Dragonborn DLC, the find and read the book "The Guardian and the Traitor." You'll understand then.

Talos be with you.

Chubs out.


	2. A Bright New World

Now, I know that it's confusing, but bear with me.

O

Kenna walked into the homely place of Riverwood from the south. She had had to cut through the forest to avoid the burned town of Helgen. It took longer, but was definetely more safe than going near the forsaken place. She breathed a little more easily now that she was within the town's palisades.

As she walked in, she spotted a Wood Elf carrying firewood. He looked toward her and smiled in a friendly manner. She waved back, and in looking left, spotted a man on the mill. He was walking towards the lever to start the mill, but he must've felt her eyes on him. He stopped, looked towards her.

He was handsome, in a very rugged and worn way. His face was scarred, three vertical scratches on the left cheek. He had a rough beard growing, mostly thick stubble along a hard chin. His eyebrows were a little on the thick side, and his hair wa long and black. Not so long as to drape down his chest, but long enough to come to the base of his neck.

Other than that, he was huge. All Nords are big, but this one was simply massive. Probably as tall as a bear. He stepped towards the rail and leaned on it, arms crossed. She realized how it looked and yelled a greeting.

"Um...Hello up there!"

The Nord simply put a hand up to his forehead and waved. She decided that it was time to move, and hurried into the first building she saw.

"Need some supplies?" An Imperial asked, leaning on a table. Kenna, trying to look like she hadn't just been stared down by a psycopath, walked up to him.

"Yes, what do you have?" She asked him. It seemed to be the general store. Probably some weapons. Possibly even a few spell books. She had needed more than she had.

Kenna had left her hometown of Falkreath to go up to the College of Winterhold. She learned about her talent for wizardry after being attacked by wolves.

_The beasts surounded her, growling and yipping their plans. All had their eyes on the lass, hungry and red. She was breathing heavily, scared beyond wits end._

_She held her dagger in her right hand, and twisted around to see all the attackers. There were five of them, at least she thought. In the murk of the night and rain, there was little she could do._

_One of the wolves signaled to the others, and they tensed up. She felt herself prepare. A calm washed over her. She wasn't ready for a fight._

_She had accepted death._

_The leader pounced, tackling her to the ground. Spittle splashed against her cheek. She felt the calm turn into something else. Not calm...focus. Energy._

_The wolf yipped and danced off of her. She rose, a light in her hand. She looked at it. Not torchfire..._

_Magefire._

_She looked at the wolves, and they were backing up, afraid. She fed off their fear, growing strong. She blasted the nearest wofl with a gust of flame, igniting it. It wimpered and ran away, and some of the weakers followed. The leader remained, alone._

_It locked eyes with Kenna. It growled one last time, and reluctanlty walked off. She smiled to herself. The rain fell on her hair, her forehead. She felt alive. She was alive._

_And she was a mage._

As Kenna looked over the books, she frowned. Nothing she didn't already have. She smiled and told the Imperial she didn't need anything.

"Alright. Can't please 'em all. If you do want to spend some coin though, head to the inn. Cold mead and warm beds, you know?"

"Thank you. I'll tell the keeper you sent me."

She exited, and cautiosly looked around for the Nord. He was nowhere to be found. She sighed happily. Somehow, he scared her. Or...something. She couldn't tell. However, it felt important.

She saw a hanging sign and deduced that it meant the inn. She opened the door and looker around. Simply a common inn. People sitting near a fire. A bard strumming a lute. The bard, a handsome one, gave her a sly smile.

He wasn't handsome like the Nord was. He was more...clean cut. More a ladies man. The big Nord was a warrior. A fighter. One who'd seen death, either his own or his enemies. One who'd been injured and beaten, and slashed and victorious.

She walked to the inkeeper. Anothe Nord, like herself. She asked for a bed, and he told her of the one on the left. She was happy to take it. The sun was setting outside, and she had walked far.

"One more thing." She asked. The man looked up from his glass he was cleaning. "Do you know anything about the Nord working on the mill. Black hair? Really, really big?"

"Intimidating? Quiet? Looks at you like a piece of meat?" He raised an eyebrow.

SHe smiled. "That's the one."

"Just Lanjar. I don't know much about him, really. No one does. He doesn't ask anyone anything, and doesn't tell anyone anything. Real suspicious fella, but no way am I gonna try and get some information out of him. I say just let him be. For now, he ain't harmin' no one."

"Thank you very much." She went on to buy herself dinner, a bottle of mead, and stepped off the stool. She accidentaly bumbed into someone wearing fur armor.

"Oh! I'm so-" She stopped as she realized it wasn't someone wearing fur armor, as much as it was someone who simply had fur!

The cat stood in front of her, eyes gleaming. "Dar'Raska is fine. No trouble."

"Oh, t-thank you." She sat there in disbelief at the wonder in front of her. A live Khajit! In this inn!

"One must that it is impolite to stare..." He said, a tone one would take with a child. She blushed and turned away.

"Sorry, it's just that...I've never met a Khajiti before."

"This one suprises Dar'Raska. For one who has never met one of my kind, you know a deal about the Khajiti."

"I...I've read alot of books. Things come up."

"Dar'aska understands. So tell Dar'Raska...what is your name?"

She looked down in shame as Kenna realized she hadn't introduced herself. "I'm Kenna of Falkreath." She extended a hand. Dar'aska took it and shook. He was obviously familiar with human customs. Strange.

"And Dar'aska is my name." He smiled a toothy grin. "So tell Dar'Raska...I am a...roving trader of sorts. Does Kenna need some jewelry? There are some fine pieces Dar'Raska has that-"

"No, no thank you. I'm not big into jewelry. Plus, I have to save money for the trip to Winterhold."

"A mage-in-training eh? An old friend of Dar'Raska has a brother who left for the College. The name was...M'zargo...or J'fargo...Dar'aska cannot remember. But if you make it, tell the cub that Uncle Dar'aska said hello."

"I will." She smiled.

The cat did the same. "Good. Now, Dar'Raska do have some magical items for sale. Tomes, robes, amulets...all sorts of things for the aspiring wizard!"

"No, really, I'm fine. Thank you though." She waved her hands defensively, backing away. "I really need to save my coin, you know?"

The Khajiti seemed to take no offense at her refusal. He smiply bowed and said. "Of course. This one knows of the expenses in traveling."

Kenna smiled and thanked him. She then backed away into her room to study her books and maps. She sat on the bed, allowing her satchel to drop onto it. She unslung it and removed a journal and pen from the bag, opened it. She wrote about her day, the Khajiti she had met, but mostly of Lanjar.

She could simply _feel _something from him. She didn't know what it was but it was definetly there. A danger? Possibly. A friend? She couldn't be sure. Or maybe just a Nord who had a bad past.

She sighed, and closed her journal. She looked outside her window. It was now totally dark. She opened her map, looked at it. She was now in Riverwood, had come from the South. So if she simply followed the road North, she'd make it to Whiterun. And from there, Winterhold.

It was a simple course. So long as bandits, animals, or the war didn't derail her, she could make it within a month. She set the map aside, laid back on the bed. Let her reddish hair flow. She was just so excited! Soon she'd be able to unlock the secrets of the Arcane.

But what woud she do? Rain the elements upon her foes, decimating armies with a single flick of her writst? Or bend the minds of those men, have them cower in fear, or turn comrade against comrade? Or twist the fabric of the very world around her? Or summon legions of deadra and monsters to lock arms with her enemies?

She could barely decide. She smiled, and plucked a tome from her strewn bag.

_The Art of War Magic. _One of the lass' favorites. She opened it from the beginning, and began to entwine herself in the pages.

O

Outside of the room holding the pagebound girl, the cat without a hat sat near the fire, looking towards the door. He sipped his cup of mead. He had been all across Tamriel, tasted many drinks. Wines, beers, ales. But mead was another thing. Dar'Raska smiled as he though: _The Nords do love their drink. Now this one knows why._

As he sipped the cold drink, countered by the warm fire, the door opened, creaking on its hinges. Dar'Raska's ears perked at the sound of crickets and birds, and the heavy footfalls of the newcomer. The patrons all turned to meet him as well. Upon realizing who it was, they all uncomfortable shifted in their chairs, and collectively took a long drink, eager to finish.

Lanjar stepped in, shut the door behind himself. His chest rose and fell largely, tired from the long day of woodwork. His arms, hairy and massive as an Imperial's thigh, didn't hang at his sides, more were held ready, as if waiting for a fight. He was wearing a green tunic with a leather vest over it. His boots were of hardened leather, and he wore gauntlets of iron. Probably to protect his arms from swinging an axe all day.

An axe that was on his hip, sharp and ready for either wood or flesh. The massive man looked around cautiosly. No one met his stare. Even Dar'Raska shrunk a little.

But still, best to have the serial killer think of you in good light before he snaps. "Welcome." The cat said to him. His head turned to stare at the Khajiti. The Khajiti, grown up in a hostile environment, didn't look away. He smiled, politely and not sarcastically, and nodded.

The Nord, after a moment of silence, nodded and blinked at the same time. He relazed his shoulders, and clumped to the innkeeper. The smaller Nord looked up, reluctantly, and simply placed a bottle on the bar. Lanjar took it, placed the standard handfull of Septims on the bar. As he was turning away, the keeper called to him.

"We're full on rooms tonight. Sorry." The keeper took the coins for the mead, but left the room money alone. Lanjar sighed, grabbed his remaining coin and sat in the corner, the fire illuminating him. After a moment, the tension in the room settled. The brute wasn't going to explode over his room, and they were going to keep their scalps.

Dar'Raska went over the mental picture. A few things stuck out. First the walk. One of a man familiar with blood. Second: The eyes. Calculating and piercing, Dar'Raska had only seen a few men who had the same look. And all of them were forces not to be reckoned with.

The man was a fighter, no doubt. And Dar'Raska could sell a few things to him. So, he downed the rest of his drink, and stood. The wooden chair scooted on the floor. He put a hand on it, turned, and replaced his rear end in a chair nearby the Nord. Lanjar didn't exactly glare at the cat. More looked at him like a dead man.

For only a dead man purposefully enters a bear's cave.

"Evening." Dar'Raska began, comforting himself in the seat. "They call me Dar'Raska." He extended a hand.

"Lanjar." After a moment, he reached over and grabbed his wrist. The grip was hard. Almost hurt, but ended just on the threshold.

"This one knows a warrior when he views one. This one also had many a sword and shield in his possesion. Any of it can be yours fro a price." The Nord looked at him for a moment with disdain. He then spoke again, after a second of thought.

"Corundum."

"Ingot or ore?" Dar'Raska smiled.

"Ingot."

"This one has two ingots. 150 gold each." Lanjar counted out the amount for one. It took a big chunk of coin from him. He had somewhere around seventy pieces left. Enough to last, but it had taken him a few months to save that up. But now he had everything he needed to be ready to leave Riverwood.

He handed the amount to the Khajiti, and took the ingot. Tossed it into the air a little, caught it a few times over. Internally, the cat chuckled. He had sold that for at least forty gold more than it was really worth. And the big dumb Nord handed the Septims over without a fuss. Skyrim was a land of fresh oppurtunity for Dar'Raska.

"Good to to buisness with you." Dar'Raksa stood and took his previous seat. Lanjar stood and walked past the cat, exiting the inn. He stepped long over the stairs, towards the blacksmith. With the iron and corundum he had purchased from the cat and Alvor, he stood ready.

He placed the bottle on the ledge, and dusted off his hands. Left his axe leaning near the bottle. He picked up a pair of tongs, began to soften the metal.

Just before the sun dawned, Lanjar finally completed his months-long task. He had constructed, with his own two hands, a suit of armor. As he held up the banded cuirass to the torch, he felt in his heart a certain elation. He closed his eyes. Let the euphoria wash over him. It was one of the first things that his hands had done that didn't lead to death.

This was the final step in his old life. He was leaving behind a life of torture, pain, and blood. He had been ordered all his life. To be silent. To work, to labor away in mines under the whip. To kill for sport.

But now, he had choice. The power over his destiny. Now, he could choose when to speak, when to rest, and when to fight. He felt the air in his lungs, the ashes on his skin mixing with the sweat. He heard his heart beat stong, proud. He smiled as he saw the sun rising over the horizon.

Skyrim. This was his first step into a bright new world.

A/N

I'm sorry this took so long. I'm trying to figure out how to put this entire story together, but after this it should pick up well. Please, review, and follow me as we step with Lanjar into this bright new world.


End file.
